


Sweet and Icy

by Sabulum



Series: The Prompt Fic of Mischief [4]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, FrostIron - Freeform, Gen, Identity Issues, Jötunn Loki, M/M, Plot Devices, Slashy Romance, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, pop culture references, slightly OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabulum/pseuds/Sabulum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the things on God's green earth, Tony never would've expected Loki to be afraid of ice-cream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet and Icy

**Author's Note:**

> This idea bit me one evening and wouldn't leave me alone until I had written it. Done pretty much in one sitting, entirely un-beta-ed (as usual) and still only mildly edited. Still has remnants of that "first draft charm," with such gems as "since then, stuff has happened somehow," and references to Star Wars and the X-Men. It's unpolished, and I like it. So... enjoy!
> 
>  **Title:** Sweet and Icy  
>  **Genre:** General/Romance  
>  **Rating:** T (language, slashiness)  
>  **Timeline:** Vaguely post-Avengers.  
>  **Characters:** Loki and Tony. Loki/Tony.  
>  **Warnings:** No real plot. Some slashy romance, particularly at the end. Vaguely stream-of-consciousness (I blame Tony). Oh, and shameless fluff.  
>  **Prompt:** _“Loki and ice-cream. Possibly a crippling phobia. Because reasons. Also, Loki has a sweet tooth, because this seems popular in fandom for some reason.”_

Loki is visiting a coffee shop in downtown Manhattan, enjoying a mocha cappuccino during one of his non-villainous moments. Suddenly, in between eyeing a newspaper with amusement and looking up to stare creepily at passers-by, he finds that he has been joined by Tony Stark, who sits down licking an ice-cream cone as if this is not at all an unusual or frowned upon occurrence.

At Loki’s repeated blinking, Tony looks up, blinks a few times himself, and says “Hey.” He then promptly returns to his ice-cream cone, ignoring his arch-enemy. Loki eyes the mortal suspiciously. Then he eyes the ice-cream even _more_ suspiciously, liking it even less than he does the illustrious Man of Iron.

He does not fear Tony Stark—not even when he is _in_ his suit, much less when he is out of it. And Loki loves sweets, it must be admitted. But this human creation known as ‘ice-cream’ leaves him with a deeply unsettled feeling, and he does not care to examine why. To do so would be to admit to a weakness far greater than a simple sweet tooth.

Briefly, he considers blasting Stark through a wall, before deciding against it. That would ruin his day off, and he hasn’t even finished his drink yet. Or maybe if he turned the ice-cream into something different… Loki eyes the treat consideringly for a long moment. But no, Stark is enjoying it too much. He would surely get upset, and then do something rash, thus ruining Loki’s fun in much the same manner.

The mortal still has not acknowledged him beyond that initial greeting. Loki does not find this at all off-putting. Instead, he simply accepts the strange truce for the moment, returning to his people-watching (read: creepy staring) and enjoying the simple pleasure of his flavored beverage.

Once Stark finishes his ice-cream, he buys a coffee and joins in the people-watching.

All in all, it is a strangely pleasant afternoon.

——

That was months ago, and since then, Tony and Loki have somehow entered into a relationship. Neither is entirely certain how it came to pass, except that Tony kept popping up during Loki’s downtime, and somewhere along the line Loki stopped minding quite so much. Now it’s more or less accepted that one of them will seek the other out when they’re not out saving the world, or wreaking havoc in the same—which, all things considered, Loki isn’t doing quite so much as he used to. They will banter, or complain to each other, or talk, or have mind-blowing sex, or just hang out. Loki will smartly avoid mentioning any of his schemes. And if anyone in SHIELD questions Tony on his relationship, he’ll just say “I’m Tony Stark” and the subject will be dropped.

Nobody questions the genius playboy billionaire philanthropist. Especially when he’s dating a god.

It is during one of these down moments in Tony’s penthouse—just hanging out, not having mind-blowing sex, to Tony’s regret—that Tony first notices Loki’s… well. He’d call it a phobia, but then Loki would set his underwear on fire, so let’s just call it an “issue.” Because it’s not like Loki doesn’t have a million of those already. This time, though, the issue has less to do with bad parenting or macho warrior stereotypes, and more to do with _ice-cream_.

Tony hadn’t known this until he offered the god some Ben & Jerry’s to go with their action movie (because why not?), after which Loki promptly freaked out. (Well… freaked out by his standards. Which basically meant he went very stiff and glared psychotically at the carton of deliciousness in question.) Tony, wary of having his entertainment center destroyed again, had carefully eased the ice-cream back into the freezer, watching as Loki incrementally relaxed.

“Okay. No Karamel Sutra, then,” he had concluded, once it was clear no destruction was imminent.

Loki had just frowned, begging with his eyes—no, wait, _demanding_ with his eyes, because Loki never begged—that Tony drop the subject. So Tony had.

And that was the last he thought about it…

Until right now.

Because they’re at the coffee shop again, and dammit, Tony _likes_ ice-cream with his coffee.

The treat (from a cute little place just down the corner) is delicious. Having Loki eye him like he’s the spawn of Satan is just the cherry on top—and that’s saying something, because Tony got a sundae this time, and it actually _has_ a cherry on top of it. Loki’s look is even better than that. Tony savors the god’s discomfort, taking his time assembling the _perfect_ bite of sundae which he lifts languidly to his mouth, watching Loki’s eye twitch; he swirls it in front of his mouth before pausing, raising a pointed eyebrow.

Loki scowls at the display. “If you keep this up, there will be no kissing in your future.”

“Keep what up? The ice-cream or the teasing?”

“Both,” Loki grumbles. He sips his drink (hazelnut cappuccino this time) in an obvious attempt to distract himself from Tony’s new favorite pastime.

Tony’s other eyebrow raises to join the first. Abruptly, he shoves the spoon towards Loki, interrupting him; he’s almost amused when the god literally scoots his chair back to get away.

Almost. Except this “issue” has been bugging him ever since that time in the penthouse.

“What’s your deal?” Tony muses out loud, finally eating the spoonful of ice-cream. He rolls it around in his mouth, savoring the flavor, but keeping his eye on Loki as the other flinches slightly.

“I… have issues with the cold,” Loki says after a long moment.

Tony almost snorts. Issues. Right. Of course. He takes another bite of sundae.

Tony has noticed, on occasion—usually when it’s freezing outside; like, _freeze-your-ass-off_ weather—how Loki always shies away from contact with the cold. At first Tony had just assumed he didn’t like winter, which the billionaire could sympathize with well enough. But then, every so often, Loki would slip up or forget—maybe he’d grab a cold handrail, or catch a face full of snow—and Tony would get a brief glimpse of… well. To put it bluntly: of blue skin. At least until Loki realized, and recoiled abruptly in an effort to hide it. Tony, being the genius that he is—and a curious bastard besides—obviously couldn’t help but make the connection with ice-cream…

And now he finds himself wondering: just what the hell was that about, anyway?

Tony takes an idle bite of sundae, wincing abruptly as he realizes it’s too big—but too late to save him from the resultant brain-freeze. The headache that follows is terrible, and the self-proclaimed superhero makes a wordless sound of protest, slamming a hand against his forehead.

Loki eyes him in amusement, sipping his cappuccino.

Tony glares half-heartedly, finally managing to swallow, before sighing. He pushes his sundae away, no longer feeling it. “Look,” he says seriously, knowing that this will grab Loki’s attention. “I know you’ve got some kind of… ice-y, magic-y thing going on. And honestly? I don’t give a shit if you’re blue. I just want to know what the big deal is, and why you won’t _tell_ me about it,” he finishes with far more enthusiasm than he’d originally intended.

Tony doesn’t know when this turned from “ice-cream” into “you’ve been hiding things from me,” but hell, he won’t argue. Not when Loki sighs and flinches like he just did, indicating that it really _is_ that big a problem.

Frowning slightly, Tony scoots his chair around until they’re side-by-side, taking Loki’s hand in both of his like this was a cheesy romantic movie. He then eyes him very seriously from over their clasped hands. “It’s okay,” he says, with utmost gravity. “You can talk to me. I won’t disown you just ‘cause you’re blue.”

As expected, Loki can’t help smirking at the absurdity of it. “ _Truly_?”

“I solemnly swear,” Tony replies gravely, before he can no longer keep from grinning. He scoots back, dropping Loki’s hand as the other glares fondly. “So, spill. What’s with the color-changing thing? I’d like to know if I’m sleeping with a mood ring or something.”

Though he obviously doesn’t get the reference, judging from his raised eyebrow, Loki nonetheless sighs with the appropriate combination of exasperation and annoyance. “If I asked you just to drop it, would you?” he asks with typical wryness.

“Not a chance.” Tony doesn’t even hesitate.

Loki seems to have expected that. Which, if he knows Tony at all, he damn well should’ve. He nods, smiling—but falsely, and with a hint of resignation, which sucks any potential satisfaction out of Tony’s victory. “Very well. I will explain it to you.”

Tony opens his mouth.

“Later,” Loki adds.

Tony shuts his mouth obediently. He nods. Then he goes back to eating his ice-cream, clamping down on his burning curiosity, smothering any further questions with bites of delicious sundae instead.

Because he and Loki are a lot alike—it’s the reason that they _work_ —and they haven’t come this far by having no respect for each others’ boundaries.

——

Still, once Loki finally lets him in on “the big secret,” Tony will admit to being a little underwhelmed.

“Okay, so you look a little like Nightcrawler,” Tony says flatly. “What’s the big deal?”

They are back in Tony’s penthouse, with Tony seated comfortably on the couch and Loki standing in front of him, having just done some complicated magic-y… thing. And Loki might be kind of hard to recognize at a glance, what with all the _red eyes_ and the _blue-ness_ and the _sharp teeth_ and the _lines_ —what are those anyway, Asgardian wrinkles?—but really, once you look closer, not that much has changed. Like the fact that, whether his eyes are red or blue-green, Tony could recognize the glare being leveled his way from a mile away and with sunglasses. Which he knows, because that has happened.

All of this basically adding up to mean: he doesn’t get what the big deal is.

Loki continues to glare, however. His unhappy look doesn’t diminish, only enhanced by the hint of sharp teeth, and Tony sighs.

“Alright, fine,” the billionaire concedes reluctantly. “I’m sorry for the Nightcrawler comment. That was kind of rude, seeing as you’re upset and all.” He pats the couch beside him, scooting over to make room, and watches as Loki sits down primly, acting very much like an offended cat—or, truth be told, like Loki. Not much changed, despite his blue-ness.

“I mean, it’s just…” Tony trails off. He eyes his offended lover in frustration. “Look, I’m obviously not getting it. There’s a ‘big deal’ here somewhere, I’m sure, but I’m just not seeing what it is—or what it is I did wrong—or why you’re upset over what is, really, kind of an attractive look for you. Like, I mean… you know Star Wars? The EU? Admiral Thrawn is kind of hot, in his own way, yeah?” Tony is floundering now, but keeps running his mouth anyway like he usually does. He doubts Loki even gets the reference, but that doesn’t stop Tony going off on a whole tangent about Chiss masterminds and how their evilness is kind of sexy.

Then Loki breaks eye contact, which he _never_ does—and Tony abruptly realizes, with enough force that it makes him stop talking.

Loki isn’t offended.

He’s uncomfortable.

Tony blinks, completely taken aback by this unprecedented situation. Because, sure, Loki has been uncomfortable before—except no, he hasn’t. It’s completely unheard of in their time together! He has been moody, nervous, awkward, closed-off, angry, resigned, flustered, and certainly _depressed_ before; he has shown varying degrees of skepticism or disgust for situations; and, yes, he has been hesitant at times. But uncomfortable? In the sense of being deeply unsettled; ill-at-ease in his own skin?

…No. That’s never happened. Not to Loki.

Only now it is, and Tony is kind of shocked. Just how deep does this “issue” of his run?

“Okay,” the genius says, slowly coming to terms with this totally world-changing perspective. He’ll have to adjust his angle of attack. “Okay. So, I take it being blue is… _bad_ on Asgard…?” He trails off hesitantly.

Loki shoots him a guarded, hostile glance—but seems to relax slightly at Tony’s honest bafflement. The god sags back against the couch, muttering under his breath. “Yes.”

“Okay,” Tony repeats. “So it’s bad. And… why is it bad, exactly?” Lord, he feels like a therapist.

Loki seems to be thinking the same thing, because he smirks humorlessly. “I am a Jötunn. A Frost Giant.”

Tony just nods.

“One of the sworn enemies of Asgard,” the trickster adds.

“Uh-huh.”

“My birth father incited war against Odin, resulting in countless deaths on both sides.”

“Yeah…?”

Loki sighs at Tony’s lack of comprehension. “Jötunn are _hated_ ,” he clarifies. The mortal enemies of our entire people. If I were back home and in this form, I would be shunned. They would see me as a monster.” This last is said with surprising matter-of-factness.

…Ah.

And it is that, more than anything, that makes Tony understand. The matter-of-factness. He nods slowly in understanding, recalling the same matter-of-factness with which he had once said “my dad’s an alcoholic”—as if he didn’t care. As if that was just how things were.

And it _was_ how things were, that was true… but that didn’t mean that he didn’t care.

“So, they’re racists basically,” Tony sums up, just to see if he’s reading the situation right. Loki shrugs and nods with deceptive casualness.

“Yes. But our races have been at war for centuries,” he says, as if that explains it.

Tony nods as well, because maybe it does.

Then again, maybe not.

“Does Thor know?” Is his next question.

Loki nods again, but remains silent.

“…Does he care?”

A pause. Then another deceptively casual shrug.

So. Loki doesn’t know if his brother hates him or not. Figures. Tony sighs in exasperation at the pair of idiots, wishing someone would just bash their heads together already… or maybe lock them in a room so they’d have no choice but to talk it out. That would be fun. Brother-on-brother showdown.

“So, Thor knows, and you don’t know if he cares,” Tony recites, ticking off points his fingers. “I’m guessing your parents know, since, well, they _raised_ you. I don’t care if Asgard knows… the Avengers probably don’t… and now I know, too,” he concludes.

“Yes to all of the above.”

“Well… why is it such a big deal?” Tony finally blurts, unable to resist asking any longer. “I’m sorry, but why? I mean, they may be racist against blue people on Asgard—and, I dunno, good reason or not, whatever, I don’t really care—but you _know_ that that prejudicial shit _will not fly_ here on Earth. So why not just tell me earlier and get it over with? It’d save me wondering what your deal was with cold things,” Tony adds in exasperation.

Loki’s expression has turned wry over the course of Tony’s questioning, and now he sits with his chin cradled in his hand. “You seem upset over this.”

“I am!” Tony exclaims. “All this mystery and intrigue over the fact that you aren’t human—except, oh wait! You weren’t in the first place! Do you know how much time I wasted trying to figure this thing out? I mean, why the hell should _I_ care if you’re a Frost Giant?” Loki looks amused at his frustration, but really, Tony is kind of pissed. “With the weird ice-cream phobia thing, and that time I threw a snowball at you and you had a frickin’ panic attack…” Tony will not soon forget that. It goes down as one of the awkwardest dates he’s ever had. “You _broke_ my fucking _wrist_ , damn it! I was turning my brain over trying to solve the mystery—what is it, is it some magic thing? An infection? Are you allergic to icicles?—and here it turns out you’re just a slightly different species of non-human! Talk about your letdowns.”

Tony sighs in exaggerated frustration, while Loki finally gives in and starts laughing at him. The mischievous twinkle that Tony so loves is back in his still-red eyes, and inwardly, Tony grins.

If he were the type to make bad puns, he’d say that he had successfully “broken the ice” on this issue.

And of course he is, so he does.

The electric shock that Loki gives him is well-deserved. It also does funny things to his Arc Reactor, making him shudder sweetly. Grinning, he edges closer—and damn if Loki isn’t cold as a popsicle, though that doesn’t stop Tony curling up beside him on the couch. Frost Giant, he reminds himself obviously. “Ah, you know I love you anyways,” Tony says, with the air of one making a great concession. “Even if you zap me or break my wrist or keep stupid secrets… even if you’re blue.”

“I know,” Loki says simply.

And the seriousness of it makes Tony squirm abruptly in discomfort.

Loki grins, displaying a flash of sharp teeth. Yet another reason why they work so well, Tony supposes; Loki (damn him) always reads the sincerity behind his jokes, and tends to call him on it.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, knowing when he’s been had.

Loki chuckles. “Fear not,” he promises; “I will tell no-one of your secret.”

Tony just tilts his head and grins. He doesn’t have to speak aloud for Loki to know that the sentiment is returned, and knowledge of that fact makes him feel strangely badass.

They lapse into a comfortable silence then, cuddled on the couch, with Tony staring at Loki’s cheek and Loki slowly relaxing into his own skin, growing more comfortable that Tony will not suddenly reject his new form. Eventually Tony raises a hand to poke at the lines on Loki’s face, humming interestedly when he discovers that they’re smooth. Some type of birthmark, maybe? Maybe unique to him—like a fingerprint. He traces them idly, Loki allowing his exploration without comment.

After a while of this, Loki shifts to look at him, his expression turning thoughtful. Tony meets his gaze attentively.

“It is not that I feared your reaction, necessarily,” the god mutters, more to himself than to Tony. “I knew precisely what you would think. I knew I had no reason to doubt.” Loki hesitates. “It is merely… _difficult_ to counteract a lifetime of being told something. Even if you know it to be untrue.” He ends in a whisper.

Tony nods. This, too, is something that he understands.

But there is an uncertainty inherent to the words that he sees in Loki’s eyes; a question—it _is_ untrue, isn’t it?—which he can’t stand, so he quells it with a slow, soft kiss. One that speaks of the depth of his feeling, even if he can’t bring himself to say the words aloud without disguising them as a joke. One that is not entirely chaste, which is very careful of these newly found sharp teeth.

Loki’s lips are pliant, if not necessarily warm, and when Tony pulls back he exhales mist. The sight makes him laugh quietly.

“Laughing at me, are we?” Loki purrs, eyes still closed in contentment.

Tony grins satisfiedly. “Hmm… maybe. Portable air conditioner. Maybe I should market you to the masses.”

The trickster growls, and Tony laughs again as he finds himself pinned by a deceptively strong, very seductive god. Loki stares down at him intently, the heat in his red gaze making all manner of pleasant things happen in the region of Tony’s stomach.

Then he sees green begin to edge in around the god’s irises.

Realizing that Loki is changing back to a more human-like appearance, Tony arches up to press his lips against a cold throat. “Don’t,” he says, voice rough.

He feels Loki hesitate.

To make his point more clear, Tony frees one hand and traces it lightly over Loki’s suddenly uncertain expression. Then he flips them over so that he can press down into Loki, bringing them closer; touching more of him; reaching under clothing to explore ice-cold skin. “Stay like this,” he whispers, mouth brushing Loki’s ear. “I want you to.” He nips lightly to make his point.

And Loki does.

At the sudden hitch in his lover’s breath, Tony traces Loki’s face again, watching as the god’s eyes flit closed. But those red eyes are mesmerizing, and he can still envision them long afterwards. His fingers caress the lines which run down Loki’s cheek; down the line of his neck; across his collar-bone. Then he dips to follow the trail with his mouth, suddenly eager—to map his skin—to see what he tastes like. To find out if it’s any different.

Tony likes Loki like this, he decides, even more than ice-cream. There’s so much new about him to explore.

And judging from the sounds he makes, Loki likes it, too.


End file.
